


a sort of a medley

by quirkysubject



Series: Quirky's Anon Prompt Challenge [4]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Erratic Driving, First Kiss, First Time, Flash Fic, Friendship, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Modern AU, Prompt Fic, text fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25800103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/pseuds/quirkysubject
Summary: A collection of ficlets written forQuirky's Anon Prompt Challengeon tumblr.
Relationships: John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Roger Taylor, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Quirky's Anon Prompt Challenge [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841833
Comments: 28
Kudos: 26





	1. four wheeled friends

**Author's Note:**

> Each fic is a rough sketch that took about one hour to write. If anyone feels inspired to take one of these and expand on them or turn them into proper stories, please, by all means, do! 
> 
> Tags/Ratings may change as I add chapters.
> 
> Also, if you prompted any of these, please tell me who you are and I'll make a note!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:**  
>  Text fic, Roger’s Ferrari caught fire and he’s somewhere rural in France. Everybody’s trying to figure out how to help out, some more effectively than others. There must be at least one bored and intransigent cow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: g

~~~Queen Group Chat~~~

RT: any of you guys happen to be near censeau rn

JD: no

BM: We’re in Montreux. Recording an album. Why aren’t you? 🤨

FM: where? 

FM: why, what’s up? 

RT: ah nevermind

— 5 minutes later —

RT: you guys *know* anyone near censeau tho

JD: fck whydn?

BM: That’s more than an hour’s drive from here. What are you doing there? 

BM: John, what is that even supposed to mean?

RT: just gone for a drive. yes yes, spare me the lecture 🙄

FM: are you alright? 

RT: sure

RT: i mean

BM: Oh God.

RT: the fire’s out

FM: Fire????

RT: and i don’t think anyone noticed

FM: Fire?????????

JD: h/o i thght yor not allwd to drive!? 

RT: john stfu

BM: Wait, why isn’t he allowed to drive?

RT: a mere technicality

RT: (thanks a lot deaks)

FM: Roger ARE YOU OK? WHAT FIRE? 😲😲😲

— 10 minutes and 1 million text messages later —

BM: So, to recap: You went for a drive (although you’re due in the studio this afternoon) and then your Ferrari mysteriously caught fire - again! - and you can’t call the police because you lost your licence for various speeding infractions and also because of all the illegal modifications you’ve had done on your car (which of course have nothing to do with the fire *at all*). 

FM: also they better not do a blood test… 🥳🥴

RT: 😣fred

BM: I’ll call Miami

RT: no. no anything bu t that please he’ll have my head 

RT: and worse my car keys

JD: jus get in the fckn car bri well get him

FM: I come too! Road Trip!🤠

BM: No. Freddie stays and keeps up appearances in the studio. Distract Mack. 

FM: ohhhh, a diversion!

BM: No dress-up required, Fred. 

FM: dress up’s *always* required, dear!

— 30 minutes later —

FM: how are you my darlings? 🥺

BM: John is going to be the next one losing his licence the way he’s speeding. 

RT: so fucking bored

RT: look this is what counts as entertainment round here *selfie of himself with a bored, intransigent cow directly behind him. More are grazing in the background*

BM: Rog, are you *on* the field? 

BM: That’s a bull and their are calves around. get out!

FM: oh shit Bri just made a tyop. this is real, roger my darling, run!

FM: Roger, you alright?

FM: Rog?

BM: This isn’t funny, Rog. 

BM: Roger, for fuck’s sake!

— 30 minutes later —

FM: [56th message in a row] are you trying to torture me? 

FM: it’s not funny!

FM: are you there yet?

FM: brian I know you have read my messages 

FM: i can see the blue check marks

FM: for pity’s sake won’t anyone please tell me if roger has been eaten by rabid cows?

FM: I’ll have your heads on spikes when you get home all of you

FM: roger especially you can’t do this to me!

JD: yoll hav to fight off bri first lol

FM: Deaky! 

FM: wtf is going onnnn?????????

JD: found him 

[Picture of Roger. There’s straw in his hair and a beaming smile on his face. A pretty, dark-haired woman with a wrongly done-up shirt is half-visible behind him. In the background, Brian can be seen kicking the tire of a still smoking fire-engine red Ferrari]

JD: thats amelie

JD: its her cow


	2. easy as that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:**  
>  Entire band whoops we found a baby in Montreux on a mountainside while Roger and John were skiing and Freddie was having cocoa and Brian was fighting with his mittens. You choose who sees the kid first, no older than a toddler, authorities unavailable for at least a weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter rating: g

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon”, Freddie says. He tries to sound confident, but the way he’s been pacing in front of the windows for the last fifteen minutes betrays his nervousness.

“They better be”, Brian grumbles. The weather forecast had given them a storm warning long ahead, but of course Roger and Deaky still headed out for the ski slopes ‘just for an hour or two’.

It’s been six hours. The wind has picked up and snow drifts are slowly piling up against the walls of the cabin.

They’re probably alright. Most likely, the two idiots have found a pub where they’re going to spend the night getting snowed in and drunk out of their already feeble minds.

No. He really isn’t going to ruin his night worrying about them.

“They’re coming!”

Brian is at Freddie’s side by the window in 0.2 seconds, watching two shapes - first just dark silhouettes against the snow, then revealing the eye-melting colours of their ridiculous snow suits - fight their way towards the door.

When Brian opens the door for them, it’s ripped out of his hands by a gust of wind. Roger is shouting something at him, but it’s only when they’re inside - dripping with snow from boots to eyelashes - that Brian realises John is carrying something.

Something small wearing a coverall with teddy bear ears attached to the hood.

~~~

“Wine gums, toast, sausages, vodka, porridge - whole grain, good lord, Bri, why do you punish yourself like that? - beer, brandy, more vodka, half a cucumber, an apple. Oh, and vodka.”

“Yeah, but have we got any vodka though”, Roger calls out as Freddie pulls the door of the cupboard shut. “If we’re snowed in, we have to make sure we’re well-stocked on essentials.

Brian is not in the mood for Roger being… well, Roger. He hangs up the phone receiver - the line is still as dead as it was ten minutes ago - and gives out instructions. “Bring the porridge and the apple, Fred, leave the rest. Rog, how’s the water doing?”

“Almost ready.” Roger takes another potful of hot water and pours it into the large zinc bucket they normally use as a wine cooler.

Brian walks over to where John is peeling the toddler out of his suit. He’s looking at them with huge, dark brown eyes, evidently too shocked by the chaos that is all four of them together to complain. His lips have a bluish tinge from the cold. Brian really hopes Roger has the bath ready soon. “Where have you found him?”

John shrugs. “He was just sitting there by the side of the road. We’ve been looking around for ages trying to find his parents, but there was no one there.” He looks up at Brian. “Who leaves a kid just like that? How can that happen?”

Brian just shakes his head and puts the coverall John hands him aside. A small label in the inside lining draws his gaze. “Toni”, he reads out.

Toni looks well-fed and dressed with care, not like a neglected child at all. It must have been an accident, somehow.

“Ready”, Roger calls out. When Brian looks over, he’s holding his wrist into the water, testing the temperature.

“Alright, Toni”, Brian says. “Time to get you warmed up, little man.”

~~~

The little man turns out to be a little girl. A little girl with a voice that equals Freddie’s in both volume and stamina once she’s thawed up.

“Doesn’t it have an off-button”, Roger asks, once they have tried everything - from feeding her sweet porridge to rocking her back and forth in their arms (taking turns since none of them is used to that kind of manual labour) and changing her nappy (replacing it by a questionable construction made from a dish towel and some tissues) - to make her happy.

“If you find one, you’ll be the richest man on earth in a year”, Brian sighs, thinking back to the first two years with Jimmy. “But how can you blame her? She’s missing her mum.”

“How about I dip my finger in some brandy and…” Roger is drowned out by a chorus of protest. “What? My nan swears on it. Never did me any harm!”

“Debatable,” John mutters under his breath, but loud enough for Roger to hear.

~~~

A fist fight is just about avoided by Freddie’s diplomatic intervention (Brian sometimes thinks the UN should invite him to their diplomatic corps if he ever tires of making music - the Middle East should be a piece of cake after the peace treatises he managed to negotiate in the studio), but little Toni is nowhere nearer to sleep.

“Perhaps we could sing to her”, Freddie cries out over the din and immediately launches into Frere Jacques. Brian and Roger join in, but after three goes it’s obvious that it only seems to spur her on.

“Oh for f…” John just about bits of the curse and starts again. “This isn’t a sing-off!” He picks up the kid and - to the astonishment of everyone in the room - quietly starts singing to her.

> _Sleep my child and peace attend thee,_
> 
> _All through the night_

Some of the notes are flat, and his voice just doesn’t have the body to be considered good, but after the first verse, Toni’s incessant wailing has gentled to occasional hiccups.

“I’m sure she doesn’t mean it as an insult, Fred.” Roger is patting Freddie’s back, who looks both a little heartbroken and unendingly relieved.

Freddie sighs. “I know, dear,” he says and lays his head on Roger’s shoulder, listening to John’s gentle singing.

~~~

“What the fuck are we going to do now”, John asks as he throws himself onto the spare sofa in the blissed quiet. Toni is sleeping peacefully on the other one.

“We’re going to have some vodka”, Roger announces, making his way over to the fridge. “And then we’re going to take care of her until the bloody snowstorm ends, and then we’re going to find her mum and dad.” He shrugs as if to say, ‘easy as that’ and pours out four shots.

They all raise their glasses.

Easy as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to @mayamaia, who sent in this inspiring prompt!


	3. this too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**  
>  Dealor, ye olden times setting. They had to run away from their homes and to spend a cold night, they hide in the old ruins of a stone house/mansion/castle (building), and since they're cold, huddle together for warmth. Their feelings get the better of them, and they make love that very same night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: teen and up audiences

John pulls his cloak tighter around both of them. The stone wall would keep them safe from the sharp eyes of their pursuers and out of the worst of the biting eastern wind. 

He feels for the leather bag slung around his shoulders. The scrolls are still inside - at least they still got the prize and aren’t risking their lives for naught. It will be tough, the long march through Lord Forster’s lands ahead of them, but the reward will be worth it. And at least for tonight, they are safe. 

He startles as two blocks of ice suddenly press against his calves. “Lord have mercy,” he whispers as he turns to look at his companion. 

Roger’s lovely face is waxen and pale in the moonlight, his lips dark. “I’m sorry," he whispers. "I’m so cold.”

John reaches for Roger’s feet. Blocks of ice indeed. It must have been when they crossed the river, John thinks. They had used the rocks breaking through the surface to get to the other side, but they had been slippery and Roger must have stumbled at some point, getting his feet wet.

He starts rubbing and kneading Roger's feet between his palms. He tries to keep his movements firm and purposeful, but from time to time he catches himself slipping into something closer to a caress. He has to be careful, but it’s difficult with Roger so close to him. 

"They're itching", Roger complains after a while.

"That's good", John says, increasing the pressure to distract Roger from the unpleasant sensation.

"I know", his friend mumbles.

John keeps on massaging him like that, long after Roger’s feet are feeling warm again. As long as he is allowed to. 

Unfortunately, Roger pulls his feet out of John’s grasp eventually. John’s short pang of disappointment is cut short, however, when Roger sits even closer to him and snuggles into his side. “Thank you", he whispers. 

They have spent so much time together on this wild adventure that John has almost forgotten what kind of almost magical pull his friend has over him. But he has never indicated that he feels the same way for John, so-

Roger’s puts his head on John’s shoulder, his long hair tickling John’s cheek. John can’t breathe. He can’t _think_. All he knows is that he wants this man sitting so close to him more than life itself. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

This is about keeping them both warm, nothing more. Make sure that Roger makes it too the next morning safe and sound. 

“John.” Roger’s voice is small and bit brittle. 

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Can you warm up my hands too?” 

“Of course.” It’s a bit of a joke between them that John always has warm hands no matter what. He tugs the moth-eaten gloves off Roger’s hands and takes his hands between his own. They are awfully cold too, so John doesn’t feel too bad when he suggests, “You can put them under my shirt. Even warmer there. If you like.”

He certainly feels very warm now, going from shivering in the wind to burning up inside. He expects Roger to decline, but within a heartbeat (and John’s heart is beating as fast as a runaway horse) they’re pressed against his chest. 

“Are you sure this is alright,” Roger whispers. 

John nods. He looks at his friend to make a joke or something, but then he gets caught in Roger’s soulful eyes, which are so much closer than expected. 

“Is this alright too,” Roger asks and leans a forward a tiny bit. 

John nods, although he doesn’t dare believe that Roger means it like that. He can’t. 

Except then those lips that he has been dreaming about every night are pressed against his own, and John is engulfed in Roger. 

Roger draws back minutely. It’s unacceptable.

John opens his unfocused eyes, slides one hand behind Roger’s neck. It only takes the slightest pressure for John to bring Roger’s mouth back against his own, and he tangles both his hands in Roger’s fair hair as he breathes him in.

John sucks Roger lower lip between his teeth, and he hears Roger's breath catch in his throat like it’s the best surprise he ever got. That sound overcomes the last shreds of resistance he's been holding onto. He licks and nibbles and sucks, anything to get Roger to make that sound again, until he realizes that Roger’s fingers are digging painfully hard into his upper arms.

Breathing heavily, John withdraws, resting his forehead against Roger's, trying to regain some semblance of control. He realises that he has pinned Roger against the wall, holding him there with his full body weight. A slight pang of guilt works its way across his body, but he can’t move away. “Sorry", he whispers, unclenching his hands and rubbing his fingertips soothingly over Roger’s scalp.

The fingers on his arm momentarily tighten. "Don't", Roger demands quietly. “I want you to. Very much.”

"Oh God." John gasps and presses his lips into Roger’s neck. The skin is just as soft as he had always imagined, but he can also feel the strong tendons and muscles underneath.

As Roger’s arms come around his back, drawing him closer, John slides one hand down the side of Roger’s body until it rests on his hip. “This too?” John whispers. 

Roger’s hand comes down on top of his own, pushing it even further down. “Yes,” he whispers in John’s ear. “This too.”


End file.
